


it comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath and let it bury me

by writersblocked



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Everyone misses Hope, F/M, Mentions of Suicide, Pining, everyone loves hope, i kind of got carried away with landon's backstory but whats new, i wrote most of this in my spanish classs, yeah bmth is the title what are you gonna do about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writersblocked/pseuds/writersblocked
Summary: It was strange - how dying always made him feel so alive.orwhen hope mikaelson leaves, she takes a piece of everyone with her
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson & Josie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson & Lizzie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson & Rafael Waithe, Landon Kirby & Hope Mikaelson, Landon Kirby/Hope Mikaelson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	it comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath and let it bury me

It was strange - how dying always made him feel so alive. Because death tasted an awful lot like cherry chapstick. And it wasn't dark. It was so so bright. Blindingly so. 

It was strange - how he only felt like he could breathe when he was drowning. How the gasp of air that filled his lungs when he resurfaced always felt like disappointment. 

He wasn't trying to kill himself. He didn't like being dead. But, God, did he love dying. The flashes of bright light swimming in ocean eyes. The water that pooled in his body was calming. The surge of panic he used to feel absent now. Sometimes he felt like he was floating. Away from all his problems. Dying was simple. He liked simple. And life was not.

It's quiet tonight, it's always quiet. He likes it that way. His childhood was filled with the ever-present crackle of static on the T.V. and murmurs that turned to shouts. Beer bottles crashing onto the floor, belts coming undone - he liked quiet. The soft ripples of the lake are the only sound to keep him company as he ties the rope in a knot he wished he knew how to do because of boy scouts.

The first time Landon Kirby kills himself he is fifteen. The words orphan had been scrawled half-hazardly on his locker. The fourth time this month. He's on a first-name basis with the janitor. His name is Terry. Landon thinks he's the closest thing to a friend he has. Which is sad. Because his whole damn life is a Greek tragedy. He laughs at the thought now. If only he had known what was to come. When he had come home that night, stomach empty and roaring, with nothing but vodka to greet it, he had made a plan. The house was empty today. Tom's left the T.V. on and even though there is no one else in sight, Landon still fears what will happen to him if he shuts it off. So, he leaves it, blaring the games' score, and makes his way to a bedroom he felt lucky to have when he first arrived. This was the first room he had to call his own. His other foster parents had hoarded kids. Shoved five in a room and left them to their own devices. He pulls out a rope from under his bed. And a chair from the dining room. Feels guilty for taking the chair from the dining room. Get's scared of how Laura will react if she finds her house out of place. Puts it back. Stands on the top of his bed. Ties the noose he's known how to do since he was thirteen when he first thought about this. When he watched tutorials underneath blankets with cigarette holes. His legs shake, but he steps off from his bed.

Laura 's the one who finds him. Face slowly turning blue. Not dead, but dying. She doesn't scream or scramble to get him down. She drops the full bottle of wine clutched in her hand and watches the broken glass spread across the floor. He can't see it. Can't move his head enough. But, the sound of the loud crash makes him jump. Thrash in the air and the movement seems to wake Laura up from her stupor. Curses start tumbling from her gin-soaked tongue. "Shit, shit, shit. What the fuck, kid? Fuck, fuck, he's alive. Shit, shit, where the hell is my fuckin' phone!"

He wakes in a hospital with a dry throat. Neither one of his foster parents is in the room with him. He is alone. As always. A social worker comes in shortly after. Says something about negligence and drugs, but Landon can't bring himself to care about anything besides the air circulating in his lungs and how much he prayed for its absence. Because his dumb ass didn't tie it tight enough. He sees a therapist. Her name is Barb and the squeeze she gives his shoulder when she walks into the room is the most affection he's had in years. She asks him questions, but the way she dances around the subjects like his abuse is a recital makes him instantly shrivel. Her voice softens when she recognizes his downwards cast and his raised shoulders. It turns sickly sweet and leaves a bitterness in his mouth like a warhead. He doesn't tell her about the bruises and how when he couldn't sleep he looked for images in them. Didn't tell her about the purple elephant he received when he walked in on Tom cheating. Didn't tell her about the sprained arm from the football team or the missing tooth from his last foster family. She leaves with nothing of his and that is closest to power he thinks he can get.

So, yeah, given his history he probably shouldn't be drowning himself almost every night, but it's not like he can die. Besides, Landon's never been a problem solver. Always one to bask in it. Ignore it. Runaway from it. But, this feeling. It hurts to bask in it. And he can't ignore it. And this is the closest thing to running away from it he can get. Because when he dies, it vanishes.

He feels like there's smoke and it curls into a figure he knows he knows, but as soon as he reaches his fingers out to grasp it, it blows away. When he steps off that ledge, shivers at the coolness that envelops his body, he can grab onto it. Can press the pads of thumbs into soft skin and hold strands of hair between his fingertips. His lungs are full, he stopped thrashing months ago, and he can see her. The smoke blows away and now he can see the fire. The flames and now he feels so warm, swimming in her eyes. He swears they're like currents. Powerful enough to knock him down and as soon as he gets back up on wobbly feet, they wash over him and drag him under. He lets them every time.

By then, it feels like a lazy river. All hesitance and fear are gone and now he's just letting the water embrace him. He feels like he can fall asleep with the hum of a heartbeat beneath his head and the soft sounds of laughter. He can feel someone twirling his hair, delicate fingers trailing into his scalp, but then the lulls of simplicity are washed away like a tsunami that hits and destroys everything.

He emerges from the water, hair sticking to his face and trails of water dripping down it. He blinks, sighs, and dodges the flames he's created on his way back to the dock. He lands on the surface with a hard thump that leaves a puddle in its wake. He breathes in the night air, ragged breaths leaving his lips in strained puffs. He stares at the stars for a moment. Convinced they are made from the pupils of her eyes. The feeling is back. Like there's something wrong, missing.

The cavity of his chest feels hollow like his entire heart is missing. He thinks maybe she took it. He wonders if maybe she gave him hers and he lost it. But, Landon never lost anything. He never had much, so what he did have, he held onto. He wonders if maybe someone took it from him. Maybe she took it from him. Didn't think he was worthy of it anymore. She was probably right. He didn't think he was worthy of it. Still, he feels like he can hear the echoes of a beating heart. It sounds like the beat to his favorite song. He thinks back to Barb and the way she twirled around his trauma. He wonders if he's not the only one who's missing an organ. If maybe everyone else is just performing pirouettes around their mind. 

Sometimes, Lizzie Saltzman forgot how to breathe. Which was fine because she had exercises to help her remember. Except sometimes, they didn't work. And sometimes she would feel the strangest urge to hug someone. She didn't know who. Their arms weren't delicate like Josie's or large and strong like her dad's. They were soft but firm. She could feel the ghost of it wrap around her torso sometimes when her mind got too out of hand. Small callused fingers gripping onto her shoulders and tucking Lizzie's worried head into the crook of her shoulder. She smelled of lavender and it made Lizzie sleepy. Made the quick successions of her breaths turn slow. The ghost of a hand is rubbing her back, murmuring words into her ear. She doesn't know what she's saying, can barely make out the voice at all, but the words bring her comfort anyway. Lizzie knows she's crazy. Knows the smallest thing can make every barrier she's held up with her broken bones come crashing to the ground. She tries to avoid behavior she knows is crazy. But, the feeling this absent presence gives her makes her feel like the lungs she thought were buried in her closet next to the skeletons and designer dresses have resurfaced. It makes her feel whole and it helps her breathe and breathing is good, so really it's fine. So what if the only time she feels okay is when she's falling apart. It's not like anyone else can see.

Josie Saltzman has watched everyone she loves fall apart. Breakups, and secrets, and breakdowns, and secrets. She doesn't think it strange to make sure people are okay. Doesn't think it strange to put them first. To put her own feelings on the back burner because her dad was torn up and she doesn't want to trigger Lizzie. So, she watches out for them. She used to feel like this task took up all of her energy and time. Fighting with Lizzie over...someone. Lizzie didn't like a lot of people, it was hard to remember who Josie wanted her to get along with. But, as the days go on, she feels like she has entirely too much time. Like there's someone else she needs to be worried about. Someone who her doe eyes need to flicker to when they're in a crowded room. Someone who's hand she needs to hold when monsters are trying to kill them. Someone who's laugh she needs to hear and smile she needs to see. She's missing someone. Josie Saltzman didn't lose things, everything has a place and everything goes in its place, but on the rare occasion she does, she retraces her steps. Except, she doesn't know exactly what or who she's lost. So, she goes over the things she does know. She thinks it's a girl. Knows it's a girl who's delicate fingers she can remember intertwined with hers. Long lashes hiding blue eyes swimming with fear. Laugh like chiming bells and Josie feels an ache. Like it's winter and she's just turned into the cold side of the bed. She knows there should be someone there. She just doesn't know who.

He has the strangest feeling someone should be here. He's not sure who, but every white flower he sees makes his heart stop. It seizes in his chest and he has to dig his claws into the earth to not go racing after it. He can't think right, feels like something has infested his mind like a parasite breaking down everything inside of it. Or maybe like his brain is gone altogether. That's the only explanation for why he'd leave Landon like that. He doesn't really know where he is now, but he knows someone else should be here. He can hear the faint patter of paws behind his own - or in front. Definitely in front. He doesn't think he can see her, she's too far ahead. He can't stop his legs from picking up in speed, but when he does - he thinks he finds her. Soft smile and wide eyes and she's rushing his name past her lips. But, then she's saying "Landon" and she's running and he wobbles on his human legs to chase after her. Landon calls her "hope" and Raf agrees, but when they turn she's gone. But, as the buzzing in his brain pauses, he realizes he's not hopeless anymore.


End file.
